Sunday, Mar. 24, 2002 - 10:30 p.m.

How many little stories of pitiful little creatures living their pitiful little existences before dying in gruesome ways can I tell before my supply of pitiful little creatures drys up?

Does anybody care?

____

So,

after the nuclear holocaust apocalypse type thing,

(it had to happen after all),

there was only one creature left.

He was small, and red, with sharp teeth, and big claws,

which just happen to have dug the hole in which he sat out the firey nights and days after the bomb drop.

He wasn't too happy about surviving,

but who would be? Really?

He sat on a hilltop and rocked backwards and forwards often, mumbling to his imagined co-survivors.

He would talk about how he wished to one day see the sun,

(it had been blanked out long ago),

and how it would be great if he could just talk to his family once more.

But his dreams would never come true,

apart from to him,

as he sat there, and slowly became sucked into his own dreamland,

where he sat, and talked to friends and family,

played, danced,

and eventually, died, sat on that hilltop.

But he was happy.

So everything was alright.

And all life on earth ended as well.